Light my candle
by qwertysweetea
Summary: Enjolras gets a knock at his door in the late evening to a ratty yet familiar looking girl. RENT/ Les Mis crossover thing. Mentions of E/É and E/R


One of a group of mostly unfinished fanfictions from years ago I'm piling online.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Les Misérables or any characters and places associated with Victor Hugo's novel, any screen or stage adaptations and musical soundtracks. No profit is made from the writing for this fanfiction.

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Enjolras was sat back in his apartment, legs crossed under him as he thumbed through one of his battered text books by the light of the street lamps outside. It was his usual routine when his roommate was out for the night. Attempt to study, attempt to plan… anything to stop his stewing in his own thoughts.

He had been a hard worker once; he'd studied for a BA Honours in Political Science while he staged protests with his group as they hankered for social change. He liked to think that he could do it again but since the last protest, a disastrous attempted that resulted in the death of one of their group, Grantaire, his motivation found it hard to keep up with his passion.

He didn't know how long he had been attempting to read until he gave up, throwing his book to the side. Then there was a knock at his door.

"What'd you forget?" He said, voice disgruntled with facial expression to match after he heaved himself up, dropping his books onto the floor. Both melted into confusion when he realised it wasn't any of the study partners he had dismissed an hour or so before hand, or his room mate.

"Got a light?"

It was a girl; a slender and pretty looking thing with long ratty hair and dark circles under her even darker eyes, and a familiarity in her face that stirred up something in his memories but surfaced nothing. He didn't need the light to see her shuddering and from the way she pulled her cardigan around her wrists it was obvious why. She held out a candle, hand wrapped around it tight.

"I know you, you're shivering…" He said with concern.

"It's nothing." She gripping on the door frame so she could lift herself off of it, stumbling a small step back as she stood under her own weight. "They turned off my heat and I'm just a little weak on my feet." She smiled back at him, holding out the candle again. "Would you light my candle?"

He didn't go to move, unsure of how to act at all. He had never been good with women, never known how to talk to them, yet here one was looking for assistance and he still had no idea what to do. Should he invite her in? Give her his jacket? Why was she so familiar? Something familiar in her face? No… her mannerism maybe?

Lighting the candle would be a good start, Enjolras.

"What are you staring at?" She asked.

"Nothing." He said, snapping out of his thoughts with a soft shake of his head. "You look familiar." Looking away abruptly, he dug a matchbook out of his pocket, lighting the little candle in her hands.

The flame illuminated her face, and as she looked away he found himself staring at her more intently. Her smile had drifted to something a lot weaker looking, reserved even. That was Grant's smile. Grantaire… No. He chastised himself for thinking about it.

The girl turned back down the corridor, stumbling lightly against one of the walls when Enjolras snapped out of his thoughts again, coming to her side to support her. "Can you make it?" He asked.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes with an almost triumphant grin as his hand lightly grazed the base of her back. "Just haven't eaten much today, at least the room stopped spinning…" Her smile brightened, following him back to the door of his apartment. "Anyway, what?"

"Nothing." He jumped back from her, stepping backwards into to his apartment, rubbing his head awkwardly. "Your smile, it reminded me of…"

"I always remind people of. Who is she?" She asked, stepping towards him.

Stepping to the side to allow her into his apartment, Enjolras swallowed back the lump that had risen in his throat. "He died." He muttered. "His name was Grant." He leant his head against the door, closing it slowly.

He remembered opening the door for Grant in the early hours of the morning, watching him stumble through to the living room and kitchen. The flirtatious look on his face as he complained it was too dark to make it too his room on his own.

"It's out again." The girl said, flashing him a reflection of the smile he'd thought back on. "Sorry about your friend. Would you light my candle?"

He struck another match, lighting the candle. "Well…"

"Yeah?" She questioned with a cheeky smile, looking into his eyes before tearing them away with a violent hiss as the wax from the candle hit her cold hands.

Enjolras sighed, swiping up the melted wax from the length of the candle with the tip of his finger. "Oh, the wax, it's…"

"…dripping." The girl finished with a smirk, pressing a hand against his chest. "I like it, between my…"

"…fingers, I figure." He jumped in, stepping away from her. He hadn't dealt with this since Grantaire's death. He didn't know which he had felt more uncomfortable with, the proximity or the relation between the two occurrences. "Oh, well, goodnight." He scratched the back of his head uneasily, pointing towards the door.

He had heard her head towards the door but refused to look in her direction. The door had barely shut before another knock bounded around his room and he opened the door with a restless sigh. "It blew out again?"

"No." She said, pushing back into his apartment with a new level of panicked enthusiasm, looking on the sides around her before dropping to her knees. "I think that I dropped my stash."

"I know I've seen you out and about, when I used to go out." He mused, leaning against his kitchen counter. "Your candle's out."

She ignored him, straining to look under to sofa in the dim light to see if the bag had slipped under. "I'm illin' - I had it when I walked in the door. It was pure. Is it on the floor?"

Enjolras watched her, eyes slowly drawn from her distressed face to the curves of her chest and hips, to her backside, only just covered by her short skirt. "The floor?" He mused, the words falling from his mouth with little thought. The young man was finally overpowering the student, but he made no attempt to fight it until her voice disturbed the scene.

"They say that I have the best ass below 14th Street. Is it true?" She smirked, arching her back down to get more height on her lower back one she saw him looking.

"What?" He tried to state plainly, though his voice gave him away. Looking back up at her face with a violent blush, he took another step away from her.

She spun round, up on her knees, amusement tickling her voice. "You're staring again."

"Oh no, I mean you do have a nice…" He coughed, clearing his throat. "I mean, you look familiar."

"Like your dead boyfriend." She said, rolling her eyes to herself.

"Only when you smile." He muttered, feeling a gentle stabbing in his chest as he thought back on the smile. He tried to shake the feeling and stepped back into the room. "…but I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else."

"Do you go to the Musain Club? That's where I work, I dance." She smiled, pushing herself off the floor.

"Yes!" He said, finally placing her. He remembered the Musain Club very well from his early university days, where he used to meet with his friends during his caffeine, and sometimes something a little stronger-fuelled study sessions. "They used to tie you up."

She gave an irritated glare. "It's a living."

"I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs." He confessed, trying to keep his face straight.

She couldn't help but giggle as she felt the heat of a blush prickle her cheeks, skipping a couple of steps towards him, holding up her candle again. "Oh won't you light the candle?"

A few minutes passed before either of them spoke, the girl was back on all fours on his floor, looking frantically for her stash, her trembling becoming noticeably worse, though he didn't make a move to help her. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, with his arms crossed and a stone face, unwilling to be the enabler.

"Why don't you forget that stuff?" He questioned. "You look like you're sixteen."

"I'm eighteen, but I'm old for my age. I'm just born to be bad." She laughed, flicking her hair back over her shoulder, sitting on her heels.

"I once was born to be bad." Enjolras remarked "I used to shiver like that."

"I have no heat, I told you." She protested.

"I used to sweat." He continued, pointing to her forehead.

"I got a cold."

"Uh huh…" He laughed unhumourously. "…you know I used to be a junkie." It wasn't completely untrue.

She jumped off the floor, and gracefully at that. "…But now and then I like to feel good."

Enjolras sighed, putting his hands up in surrender. He looked at the floor around him as a subtle indication that he had no intention of arguing with her, when he saw the light from outside shine off the plastic packaging. "Oh here it is." He muttered to himself, picking it up.

"What's that?" She questioned.

"Just a candy bar wrapper." He knew that the girl wasn't fooled; she danced over to him with a keen interest, hand diving toward his back pocket. All he could do was fall back onto the sofa.

"You know, we could light the candle." She laughed, jumping onto the arm of the sofa next to him, legs stretched out over his lap.

He rolled his eyes, a smile finally breaking onto his lips. The entire situation was ridiculous. It was like he had been thrown headfirst into his old life.

The girl was like a live-wire but maybe that was the appeal. It hadn't been quite this raw with Grantaire; they had seemed to settle into a distressing routine of study, debates and handling each other's substance abuse, and he could see the same troubling feeling building up in his chest from the moment she had walked into the room like he was in danger of slipping straight back into it.

Maybe that is why he was still entertaining it rather than giving her the packet and sending her way with the little candle. There was a part of him that wanted all of that back.

His eyes flicked back up to hers, shining in the light of the dancing flame, and he blew sharply.

"Oh what'd you do with my candle?" She laughed, slipping from the arm of the sofa to cuddle up next to him, taking his hand in hers.

"That was my last match." Enjolras shrugged, watching her hand tangle with his.

"I guess our eyes'll adjust, thank God for the moon."

"Maybe it's not the moon at all." He mumbled, having to clear his throat which had become tight with the unexpected contact. Taking in a nervous breath he continued. "I hear Spike Lee's shooting down the street."

"Yeah right." The girl giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He gave an uncomfortable smile, brushing his thumb along the back of her hand. "Cold hands."

"Yours too." She commented. "Big, like my father's. Do you wanna dance?"

She jumped up, far too enthusiastically for someone who was suffering from trembling, pulling him up with her. Her hands already on his shoulders, pulling him forward with a sway of her hips.

"With you?" Enjolras commented, a soft heat waving over him from the blush in his cheeks. She wasn't Grantaire but there was something very similar in her. He was pulled into her arms.

"No, with my father."

"I'm Enjolras."

"They call me 'Ponine."

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Thanks for reading!


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